The Joyride
by broken halleluiah
Summary: Twelve-year-old Dean takes the Impala for his first, er, rescue mission. Or, the beginning of a beautiful love story.


**Hi. I'm new to this fandom. Don't hurt me. Leave a review if you like! :)**

* * *

"It shouldn't take this long."

Sam had been saying precisely the same thing all morning, but when Dean finally agreed, he dropped the spoon he had been using to stir his dry Cheerios and turned around in a panic.

"He was just going to get milk, right?" Dean hung upside down off one of the motel beds, hair reaching for the warped wood floor. "I thought he'd be back by now. We're supposed to check out at noon."

"Do you think something happened?" Sam pushed the bowl away, heart pulsing in his throat. They had a rule about worrying about Dad. Sam wasn't allowed to worry until Dean did. Dean actually made that rule for him because Dean was twelve and never worried unless things were really bad, and Sam, if left to his own, would worry every second of his life. "He's probably just buying other stuff, too, isn't he?" That was what Dean would say to reassure him, so Sam hurried to get it in first.

Dean pulled himself up on the bed, face flushed from hanging inverted for the better part of an hour, and immediately tugged on his shoes. "He might be in trouble. We've gotta go find him."

This was really serious, then. Dean wasn't one to ignore the "stay-put-and-wait-for-me" rule, ever. Well, he'd been caught sneaking to the candy machine in the lobby before, but never anywhere dangerous, and certainly not with Sam in tow.

"Do you think that he'd want us to-?"

"Look, it's probably nothing. But if Dad did run into something at the grocery store, I mean, he only had a knife on him. Maybe one gun. It _is _just across the street. He might not have everything he needs for a real fight." Dean pulled back the yellowed curtain at the full-length window. The mini-mart across the street stood stark and tall against the cloudless August sky.

Sam frowned. He was eight and couldn't help Dean carry all that many weapons, and two kids with their arms full of guns and silver bullets wouldn't exactly pass unnoticed in a public place, no matter how quiet this latest small town, USA, turned out to be. He started to say, "Dad doesn't want us to walk places alone-" but Dean cut him off with a waving hand, plucking a set of keys off the table.

"No," Sam said flatly.

"He left it for us, just in case." Dean was already halfway out the door, headed for the Impala with the key set twirling around his finger.

"You don't know how to _drive_," Sam hissed from the doorway.

"Of course I do. I pay attention," Dean insisted. "It's not hard or anything."

He _had_ been allowed to sit in the front seat recently, and certainly spent a lot of time fiddling with the radio, stroking the dashboard, and generally fawning all over the car. Sam admitted to himself that Dean might have had the opportunity to study its operations closely. Dad had even let him pump the gas once.

"Well, don't… don't let anybody see you…"

Dean unlocked the car and gestured to the passenger seat. "You coming or not?"

Sam shoved a handful of the Cheerios into the pocket of his shorts and then slammed the motel room door shut, racing for the car. His stomach was too excited to eat, though. He had never gotten to sit in the front seat before. The back seat was nice enough to stretch out and go to sleep on, but it was sort of lonely, and it was a little embarrassing always begging Dean to sit in the back and play Uno with him. After all, the license plate game could only go on for so many hours before you'd seen all the states and had to start over. Dean obliged sometimes, but generally he wanted to sit up front and stare at the open road for miles on end. Now Sam understood why. The view through the windshield was huge, without two big familiar heads obstructing his sight.

Dean stuck the key in the ignition and turned, but the engine sputtered lazily.

"Turn it farther," Sam suggested.

"I _am._"

He revved it again and this time the engine caught and spun to life. Dean rubbed the steering wheel affectionately, eyes lit in wonder and fear. "Listen to her purr, Sammy." He scooted the seat forward until his feet could satisfactorily reach both pedals, then paused to check both mirrors, clicking his tongue at himself in the rearview mirror and announcing, "I was born for this moment."

"Buckle your seat belt," Sam said.

Dean gave him a dirty look and pulled the belt across his chest. "I was _getting _there." He turned the radio on with a flick of the wrist, and a wailing electric guitar solo vibrated through Sam. He clutched the armrests anxiously, scanning the parking lot for any witnesses to their crime.

"Turn that down! You can't get caught driving! Dad will _kill_ us!"

"Shhh, it helps me concentrate. Now, the key to using reverse, Sammy, is to look in two directions at the same time."

Sam reached for the dial and turned the music down. "That's not possible."

Dean shoved Sam's head casually into the console, on pretense of seeing out the other window. "You just have to be amazing, my friend, to do the impossible." He thrust the gear shift into reverse, and the Impala crept out from under the motel awning. Sunlight streamed through the windshield, glinting off the hood of the car in heat-shimmering summer glory.

"It's so beautiful." Dean slammed the brake, jerking Sam against his seat before he put the car in drive. He punched the gas equally unpleasantly. They lurched over the uneven, tarnished pavement toward the exit to the main street. "You and me and the open road, kiddo. You look like you're gonna hurl."

Sam glanced over his shoulder for the flashing lights and wailing sirens that would be coming any moment. "What if someone calls the police?"

"Well, if we can't pick up Dad and hightail it to the highway in time, we'll just have to give them the slip in the woods and double back later."

Wow, he really had thought of everything. Another pang shot through Sam's chest, but this time it was genuine excitement, the thrill of the escape. Dean braked a tiny bit more gradually at the stop sign, but it wasn't enough to keep Sam from straining his seat belt again. "I'm getting the hang of this, huh, baby?"

"I'm not a baby," Sam muttered.

"I'm _talking_ to our _sweet ride_," Dean shot back. He was apparently going to be one of those crazy people who talked to cars.

The only problem standing between them and swooping to Dad's rescue was the actual open road. As quiet as the town was, the main street was still a bustling four-lane affair, and real cars with real adult drivers were coming from two directions at once.

"You watch the right. I got the left," Dean said.

"Go!" The Impala lurched. "No, wait. Not yet." And it jerked to a stop. "Yeah, now go. No wait, there's another one… Can you stop halfway across and wait?"

"Roll down your window." Dean rolled down his own window, and as soon as Sam had done likewise, peeled out of the parking lot, whooping and craning his head to feel the breeze.

Sam screamed. Either way he looked, cars were careening toward them. He was tempted to cover his eyes, but for a second, just a split second, the two of them were free on the open road and the breeze was rushing in and at least if they died Sam had gotten to sit in the front seat once and see the view…

And then they were in the other parking lot, and Dean slowed down and dodged the other cars pulling in and out. "Swing around front," Sam said, and Dean quite literally swung the car around in a wide arc and cruised toward the entrance to the mini-mart.

There was Dad, standing by the door with a gallon of milk in one hand, chatting with the older man beside him amiably. He looked a little sweaty from the humid air but otherwise unharmed. "He's fine," Sam breathed. "Dad's fine."

But Dean didn't look relieved. His pupils actually shrunk a little and started whispering words that Dad very hypocritically told them not to say. "Get down! Maybe he hasn't seen us yet!"

Dean reached over to shove Sam's head down again, ducking his own, but in that moment, Dad's eyes swept across the parking lot and met Sam's with the highest, most disapproving eyebrow raise he'd ever seen.

And there was a _bump-crash _and then a total stop, because Dean forgot to quit ducking and watch out the window and they sort of ran straight into the cart return.

Sam watched Dean slam his head on the steering wheel, and all the life fizzled out of him like a deflated balloon.

"It was just the bumper," he said quickly, feeling his own heart plummeting.

Dean shut the car off and folded his arms over his head.

Out the window, Sam saw their dad walking toward the car, a purposeful stride that meant the kind of business you didn't want to be on the wrong end of. The man in front of the mini-mart was trying to hide his laughter behind a sack full of groceries.

"He's coming…"

And then he was standing at Dean's rolled-down window. "Dean, step out of the car, please." His voice was deathly quiet. Dean unbuckled and sort of oozed out of his seat. When Sam went to open his own door, however, the icy gaze shifted and Dad shook his head. "You wait here, Sammy."

"But-"

"We'll just be a minute."

Sam watched his older brother led like a lamb to the slaughter at the edge of the parking lot. He sat up on his knees in the seat for a better view, but then Dean saw him and glared and he sunk down again out of sight. Only a few seconds passed before he heard again, though, Dad's _I'm-not-yelling-but-I-couldn't-possibly-be-any-more-angry_ voice, and he had to peek. Dean just kicked at the gravel. He never yelled when he got in trouble, or cried or stomped his feet or did _anything. _He just _stood _there. Sam didn't get it, because when Dad used that voice he couldn't stand it and it got under his skin until he had to explode or sob or try to run away, and then Dean had to find him and say "Quit being a princess" and slug his arm in a way that made him just mad enough to distract him from his actual anger. But Dean was more mature or something, so he didn't need anyone to tell him to grow up, he just kicked the gravel and waited for the storm to pass.

Then the two of them walked back to the car, and Sam suddenly remembered that Dean would want his rightful place in the front seat, so he squirmed between the seats into the back, but he got stuck and had to wiggle his legs a little to get through. But Dean got in the back, too, and slammed the door and stared out the opposite window and didn't look at Sam.

"Sammy, I'm going to say bye to my friend Bobby, and then I'm gonna drive you boys home, all right?"

"Okay," Sam said. When Dad left, he whispered urgently, "Are you in trouble?"

Dean gave the palest of nods, not turning at all.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No," Dean hissed. "I'm in trouble for taking you."

"That's dumb. Didn't you tell him we thought it was a 'mergency?"

"I tried." Dean put his face in his hands and breathed really hard.

Sam stood on his knees and cranked down the window. He stuck his head out and shouted at Dad, "Hey! We thought it was a _'mergency, _okay?"

"Sit down!" Dad snapped.

"Sit down!" Dean echoed, yanking Sam down by his belt loops.

"It's not _fair!"_

"It's _fine_," Dean said, but he scrubbed at his cheek in frustration, and then he couldn't pretend he wasn't crying anymore. Sam sat down quietly because Dean never cried and he was sorry for saying anything at all. He should be in trouble, too, shouldn't he? He didn't stop Dean from driving. Or maybe neither of them should be in trouble, because they were trying to help and it was mean of Dad to let them worry about him.

Sam picked at his fingernails. "You're a good driver," he said after a long silence.

Dean grunted.

"No, I mean it. You only hit the one thing. And I think you got to forty miles per hour going across the street."

"I definitely hit fifty," Dean countered, the faintest glow of pride in his voice.

"And I thought we were gonna die, but we didn't."

"Of course not."

Then Dad got in, and their rebellious laughter died away with the slamming of his door.

"Sorry I took so long," Dad said. They were not lulled into a false sense of security by his apology. "When we get back to the motel, we're gonna pack up, and Sammy, you can finish that bowl of cereal. On the way out of town, we'll stop and look for a new fender."

Dean's eyes shifted down. "I'll pay for it."

"Yeah, with money you borrow from me, nice try. You're gonna pay for it, all right. You're going to sit out in the hot sun with me every evening and work on the car until it looks good as new." Dad studied them in the rearview mirror, but there was a flicker of something else under the disapproval in his gaze. Sam would almost say it was mischief.

Dean sat up a little straighter, hopefully. "Yes, sir."

Sam was about to say that wasn't really much of a punishment, because Dean was so obsessed with the car, but then Dean dug an elbow into his ribs gleefully, so he shut up.

"Sorry, baby." Dean patted the Impala's door, back in the motel parking lot.

"I think she forgives you," Sam said.

"Someday, Sammy, when I have a license, I'm gonna take you on a road trip," Dean bragged.

Sam thought of the rush of wind in his face and the heart-pounding thrill of his near-death. He had to admit the long hours on the road would be much less boring with Dean behind the wheel. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere you want." Dean smirked, folding his hands behind his head.

"What's this?" Dad asked. Dad, who ruined the whole day.

"_You're not invited!_" Sam snapped, surprising himself more than anybody.

Well, maybe not more than Dad's eyebrows. They shot _way_ up into his forehead. "Excuse me?" said his angry-voice.

Dean made a slicing motion across his throat, but Sam wasn't good at shutting up and kicking gravel.

* * *

"Can I go inside?" Sam whined for the thousandth time that afternoon.

"Nope, you're suffering with us," Dean said, wiping his forehead. "Hand me the Philips head, would you?"

Sam dug through the toolbox. "But you guys are having _fun_," he protested.

"Hey, it's got to be fixed if you and Dean are ever gonna go on your road trip," Dad reminded him.

Sam handed him the screwdriver, sighing. "Can I pick the music, on our trip?"

Dean smirked at him. "Heck no! Co-pilot shuts his cake hole."

And so Sam languished on the burning parking lot pavement and longed for the sweet release of sundown.

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**I just noticed this is my first K-rated story ever. I feel like I've regained my innocence! :D**


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